


a matter of perspective

by QueenOfSkaro



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Battle of Moria, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Gen, OC Sarg, Orcs, as the leader of the Moria orcs, i do have orc feelings, not okay, okay??, orcs point of view, villain insight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 12:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8489878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfSkaro/pseuds/QueenOfSkaro
Summary: You don't have to understand them. You don't have to see their point.It doesn’t matter in the long run.For them, you are the villain.
And you will die.





	

Being a villain is simply a matter of perspective.

People are rarely just mean in nature, willing to hunt everyone in their path.  
Even if you don't understand their reasoning, for most of them their rage is justified, revenge the only possible outcome.

You don't have to understand them. You don't have to see their point.  
It doesn’t matter in the long run.  
For them, you are the villain.

And you will die.

* * *

The abandoned mountain was dusty with age and dirty from vermin. Nothing they didn't know. Nothing they couldn't live with.  
It would suffice and with time it would be their home, their mines, the old dwarves who inhabited it long forgotten.

Sarg, the leader of the tired, battered orc clan send them all off with different errands to run to make their camp habitable for the night at least.  
They had injured to care for, children to feed. For tonight it would suffice to lay them on pelts and bring fresh water. Scouts were already wandering through the foreign halls, making sure they were safe. Healers flitted about, asking everyone with an injury if they needed treatment. Most answered in the affirmative. None of them was stupid enough to let wounds fester when there was another option.   
The wargs were send off to go hunting. They didn’t need special care above food and water and they were plenty capable to provide that for themselves.

“Oi, Sarg.” He got called over by a healer, kneeling over one of his soldiers. Without further knowledge, even the leader could see that he was done for, the skin around his wound already turning black at the edges.  
They had been on the run too long after the last battle, this wouldn’t be the only one taken by infection.   
But Sarg knew it was better this way, as nothing else would have been safe.

“You’ve drawn enough blood. Rest now.” He spoke deeply, heartfelt, right before he let his sword come down and he turned away. Others would bring him out. More would follow tonight. He already sent a group of scouts out to find a good place to let them rot and be eaten by vegetation in peace, where no one would see them. Humans liked to burn their bodies, but orcs had to go back to the earth. It was the only way to be reborn for the next battle.

It took half the night for most of the clan to settle down. They’d need the rest; only rested warriors could kill as much enemies as would be needed. For all he knew they could get raided in the morning. It was the first thing taught to warriors. 

Sleep on command. Wake at sound.

But they would endure, as they always did. No matter how much the world hated them, no matter how many got killed in humans fit of rage, or in elves bout of supposedly righteous fury. They would live and they’d strike back.

The old dwarven city quickly became their home. It was a stronghold they could defend, had passaged and rooms they could hide their young and those too old or crippled to keep fighting. It held a cavern easily infused with daylight to grow their crops in, sheltering it from severe weather and making them hopeful for a good harvest.  
Another section was built into stables that were filled mere weeks after they discovered the lost city, holding cattle to feed off.

No attackers surprised them at night. No one was kidnapped. No stakes burned. Their dead could rot without disturbance.

Moria was a safe haven for his people and as it was known, more and more came, until they inhabited a great portion of the city, leaving the rest to the Balrog that stayed away as long as they did too.  
They prospered so much that Sarg alone couldn’t get the work done. Azog was young and adaptive, eager to be a part of something useful and had just completed the training for their forces – despite being safe for now, it didn’t mean they’d stay safe. Experience showed them that bloodthirsty elves and men found them with time; they had to stay in training.

The young captain had leader qualities, a sharp head on his shoulders and was even taller than Sarg, perfect to intimidate the enemy.  
He made him his deputy in a big celebration not normally held. But for now, they were safe and had food in excess, so why shouldn’t they make merry for as long as they could?

* * *

Soon enough bandits came near their mountain, disrupting a long period of peace. Foolish men claiming that no orc was a match to them. They were dead before the scout sent to Sarg to inform him has even arrived in the tunnels.

But dead men were missed more often than not and more came to look for them. As the third group turned up dead at the nearest villages outskirts the men left it, too scared for a few months.

And then the dwarves came.

* * *

Claiming it was theirs surely was enough for them, but for Sarg, for Azog, for everyone living in the mountain – it wasn’t.

They heard about the dragon, of course, they didn’t live under a rock, only in it.  
And if the dwarrow hadn’t come barging in, weapons drawn, demanding a city they abandoned so long ago – maybe they could have talked it out. Sarg was a reasonable person, after all, and while he wouldn’t say so out loud, he could feel for them. They lost their home, as he had so often. No one wanted to help them, as no one wanted to help orcs – they never asked for it nowadays anyway, they had their pride too.

But as the first contact was them slaughtering a group of scouts at the foot of the mountain there wouldn’t be any talking.  
There would be blood, battle and war, death to all sides and rage in their hearts.

The leader gave the command to hide the young and then they blazed outside, weapons in hand, snarls on their faces.  
Sarg never quite understood the need in every race to kill his people at first sight. And young ones at that, barely two years into their training making up half of the scouts-group.

The dwarves were many, clad in armor the orcs didn’t possess. Hurting for every dead he saw at his feet he whirled his mace around, hitting three dwarves at once.  
There was no real tactic, the goal was simple; to keep them from their gates, surviving the process if possible. 

Killing, maiming, spraying blood on all involved, it was easy to lose sight of someone specific, even if they were as tall as his deputy. Azog and himself purposely positioned themselves on different ends of the battlefield, so that their clan could feel safe with one leader always in reach.  
Now though he found himself almost beside the young captain, near enough to see the dwarf coming up behind him, vicious looking axe already far above his head.

And that was a strange moment, indeed, seeing the orc he took under his wing right next to certain death. It made you do things you wouldn’t otherwise consider, because despite them not being as vile and evil as other races, orcs didn’t go sacrificing themselves.

Those worth of living could manage on their own.  
Yet –

He ran into the attacking dwarfs side, stabbing him with one of his knives, turning around to make sure Azogs back was free of dwarven attacks again, as he saw an axe blade coming down on him.  
It hit him between neck and shoulder, pain bursting in every pore of his being, exploding in his consciousness. 

He saw Azog looking on in shock, then turning to a crowned dwarf with indescribable fury on his face.  
And as Sarg, leader of the Moria orcs, drew his last, ragged breath, the crowned dwarf was beheaded.

And the rest, as you all know, is history.


End file.
